


come join with us in our rune tonight

by twiceborn-witchlighter (Brambleshadow_of_WindClan)



Category: Charmed (TV)
Genre: Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Gen, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-02-06 18:22:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 9,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12823377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brambleshadow_of_WindClan/pseuds/twiceborn-witchlighter
Summary: A collection of Tumblr ficlets/imagines centered around Chris Halliwell. Cross-posted from my imagines sidebloghere.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from "Wytches" by Inkubus Sukkubus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by: itswingedprincess  
> Prompt: Can you do the we were meant to be together and you can't change that plzzz
> 
> Originally published 28 April 2017

“We were meant to be together, you can’t change that.”

Chris recoils at her words, takes a nervous step back. He’s never really  _met_ this woman before now—he doesn’t even know her  _name_ , and if she’s one of his charges the Elders certainly haven’t told him about it. He shakes his head, swipes his tongue over suddenly-dry lips.

(And Goddess, the thought that he even has a regular mortal  _human_ for a stalker is terrifying in and of itself, let alone the revelation that he actually  _does_.)

“Look,” he says, forcing the words out through a desert-dry mouth, “I… uh… appreciate the sentiment, but”—he’s already edging backwards, inwardly wincing at himself because  _sure,_ Chris, let her keep thinking you’re actually into her—“I—”  


Her eyes narrow, and alarm bells go off in his head as she moves toward him.  Her hands find his abdomen, trail up over his chest and shoulders to wrap around the back of his neck. He tenses, wanting to orb away and knowing that doing so risks exposure. (Unless, of course, she already knows he’s a witch.) There’s a dangerous look in her eyes, but her voice is sweet, seductive: “I’ve already told you, Chris, you can’t fight fate. You’re  _mine_. You were meant to be with me, and you _know_ it.”

He tries to step back, winces as her nails dig into the back of his neck. “You’re crazy.” His hands found her hips, tried to push her away. “Now  _let go.”_

She finally steps back, much to his relief. A second later he tenses again as one of her hands comes to rest on his cheek.

“You  _will_ surrender to me,” she whispers, digging one nail in with each word and running her hand down his face. Red tracks mar his pale skin; dimly he’s aware that she didn’t press hard enough to draw blood. “Whether you want to or not.”

Then she releases him, whirls around on one heel. She’s gone a few seconds later while Chris stares at the spot she’d been, his mind reeling.

The first chance he gets, he’s going to cast a protection spell. Preferably  _right now._  


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompted by:** seethem-dancing  
>  **Prompt:** 168\. “I’m sorry, but I can’t trust you anymore.”   
> **POV:** Second
> 
> Originally published 02 June 2017

“I’m sorry, but I can’t trust you anymore.”

    The words hang in the air. Chris is frozen, staring at you in stunned disbelief, hurt visible in his green eyes. He looks for all the world like a kicked puppy.

     “Why not?” he asks.

     “Why not?!” You scoff, fold your arms over your chest. “You came back here to kill Wyatt! You  _lied_ to us, Chris.”

     “Because I knew you wouldn’t want to know the truth!” he yells, hurt turning to anger. “I didn’t come back to kill him; I came back to save him!”

     “You expect us to believe you?”

     “You have to.”

     “No, we don’t. And I don’t want to see you again. Get out.”

     Anger fades away, is replaced with something close to pain as he orbs out of the attic to Goddess-knows-where.

     You can’t quite bring yourself to care.  


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompted by:** Anonymous  
>  **Prompt:** “Imagine that the sisters took you in and you develop a crush on Chris and anytime he’s around you’re either totally silent or act really weird. Chris totally knows you like him and he teases you all the time. Cute and fluffy pls?”  
>  **Pairing:** Chris/Reader  
>  **POV:** Second
> 
> Originally published 03 September 2017

You’re in the living room copying down spells from the Charmed Ones’ Book of Shadows into your own personal B.o.S. for future reference when Chris walks in. You briefly glance up at him from your work before biting your lower lip and looking away, unable to stop your cheeks from flushing.

     It’s been a month since the Halliwell sisters—the Charmed Ones—took you in and you started to learn what you could about the Craft.

     Their Whitelighter, Chris—you’re not sure if he counts as _your_ Whitelighter now, too—certainly is cute (okay, not so much _cute_ as _very good-looking_ and _sexy in a dark kinda way when he styles his hair a certain fashion and forgets to shave for a few days_ ). You’ve always liked him from the moment you were introduced to him, but those feelings have slowly developed into a crush that leaves you tongue-tied whenever he’s around.

     Chris notices that you’re not looking at him; he smirks faintly, then his eyes drop to the B.o.S. on the table. “How’s the studying going?” he asks, moving closer.

     You snap your own Book of Shadows shut before he can see what’s inside and force yourself to look at him. For a brief second, amusement glints in his green eyes. “Something wrong?” It almost sounds as if there’s a teasing note in his voice, but his expression gives nothing away.

     “No,” you mutter. Then you clear your throat, repeat yourself more loudly. “No. Nothing’s wrong. I just need to…”

     You’re standing up and brushing past him before you can come up with a good excuse. As you walk out of the room, you swear you can feel his eyes on you.

     Once inside your room, you close the door behind you and lean back against it, tilting your head back and closing your eyes. Gods, he knows—he _has_ to know by now—and he’s never going to let you live this down. You just _know_ it.

 

After dinner you’re in the kitchen helping clean up when you see white orbs out of the corner of your eye. Seconds later your breath hitches in your throat when Chris comes up next to you, starts to help wash the dishes without saying a word. You glance over at him; one small part of your mind notices that he’s in a black T-shirt and dark blue jeans and he should not be allowed to look this good.

     “Thanks,” you say, searching for anything to break the silence.

     “No problem.” Chris dries the last plate and sets it in the dish-rack. You pull the plug, watch as the soapy water spirals down the drain.

     Chris steps back, leans against the kitchen table. “So,” he says, “is there any particular reason why you avoid me every time I come near you?”

     You freeze, tense up. “Um, no. Not really.” It’s a lie, a very obvious lie and there’s no way he’s going to fall for it—

     “Uh-huh,” Chris says dryly. Then his voice turns serious. “You can always talk to me, you know. I’m your Whitelighter.”

     “That’s the problem,” you mutter without thinking. Too late, you realize what you said and several heartbeats pass before you can bring yourself to look at Chris.

     To your surprise, there’s a faint smile tugging at his mouth. You’ve never really seen him _smile_ before: he’s usually so serious. “You like me, don’t you?”

     Your heart skips a couple beats before starting up again, pounding so loud you can hear the blood roaring in your ears. “W-what gives you that idea?”

     “Oh, I don’t know.” Chris lazily shoves off the table, moves closer. “You’re completely tongue-tied around me. Whenever we’re in the same room, you make a very deliberate point of avoiding me—or you stop working on whatever it is you’re doing. You also tense up whenever I’m near you.”

     He’s in your personal space now, and you can’t breathe. His smile, though slow to form, is very deliberate—he _knows_ what he’s doing to you. “Just like now. See?”

      _That smile should be outlawed,_ you think. Instead, you try to push past him. “You’re imagining things.” Then your brain realizes that pushing past him involves physical contact, and stopping puts a mere inch of space between yourself and your Whitelighter.

     Sly amusement flickers in his pale-green eyes; then they turn serious. “Okay, then I’ll leave you alone. But I do want you to know that I wouldn’t force you to do anything you don’t want to.”

     You duck your head, cheeks flaming, and try to gather yourself before meeting his eyes. “Um, thanks. I’ll… I’ll just… go, then.”

     Chris steps back, giving you space, and it takes all your willpower not to run out of there.

     This is starting to get ridiculous. You’re going to have to do _something_ about it soon, because you don’t know how much more of his teasing you can take.

 

The next morning, butterflies are flying like mad in your stomach as you head down into the kitchen for breakfast—and see Chris already there, leaning against the counter as he munches on a slice of toast. Piper, Phoebe, and Paige are nowhere to be seen.

     You swallow past the sudden lump in your throat, feel it slide down into your stomach. “Where’s Piper?” you ask.

     “She already went to P3,” Chris says. “Paige is at one of her temp jobs, and Phoebe headed off to the office. I said I’d stay here to help you with your Craft studies.”

     “Oh.”

     Chris doesn’t say anything to that, just finishes off his toast and glances at the fridge. “Anything in particular you want?”

     You blink, taken aback because it sounds like he just offered to make you breakfast. “I thought you said you were going to leave me alone.” The instant the words are out of your mouth, you wish you could take them back.

     Chris rolls his eyes. “It was a gesture. So, what do you want?” One of his shoulders lift in a half-shrug. “It’s not like I have anything better to do at the moment anyway. Besides, the sooner you eat the sooner we can start on your studies.”

     There’s not much you can say to that. “Um, two eggs over medium, thanks.”

     You watch as he sets out a pan and then the eggs, turns on the heat and sprays the pan with cooking spray before cracking the eggs open. A Whitelighter that can cook. Who knew? And honestly, the fact he even offered to make breakfast for you in the first place is making you fall for him that much harder. It’s not fair.

     While Chris is frying the eggs, you busy yourself with getting a glass of apple juice and setting it on the table. Then you turn back for a plate and fork, set the plate on the counter next to the stove. It’s not long before your order is sitting in front of you and Chris is leaning against the doorway.

     “Meet me in the attic when you’re done,” he says before orbing away.

     You take a quick detour after you’re done eating to brush your teeth and then you head up the stairs to the attic. Once there, you see Chris sitting cross-legged on the floor with a deck of Tarot cards in front of him. He gestures for you to sit across from him and then starts shuffling the deck.

     “The Tarot, as you know,” he says, “is divided into the Major Arcana and the Minor Arcana. I’ve already split the seventy-eight cards into the Major and Minor Arcana—we’ll just be working with the Major Arcana for now.”

     Chris finishes shuffling the deck and places it in front of you. “I want you to draw a card and meditate on it—you don’t have to show it to me if you don’t want to.”

     You nod slowly, take a breath to calm your sudden nerves, and reach out for the deck. You draw a card, turn it over, and find yourself staring at it in mortification.

     It’s The Lovers: the sixth card, representing relationships and choices—you remember that much.

     It’s official: the universe has it in for you.

     “What did you draw?” Chris asks, his head tilted to the side.

     Wordlessly, you show him the card. There’s a flicker of _something_ in his green eyes that you can’t identify. Surprise, maybe? Then he clears his throat and when he speaks, his voice is surprisingly even. “The Lovers. Relationships, choices. They don’t have anything to hide from each other. As part of a spread, it can represent wanting to become… intimate with someone—among other meanings.”

     He looks away for a moment, swallows, before refocusing on the card and handing it back to you. “Anyway. When you can, meditate on it, all right?”

     You nod, find yourself suddenly staring at his lips, wanting to kiss him…

     Then he’s pushing himself to his feet, and the moment has passed. You stand up too, the card tight in your grip, and start to back away.

     Before you know what you’re doing, you’ve turned back to him—something like to hell with it in the back of your mind—stepped into Chris’s personal space, and pressed your lips against his. As soon as you break the kiss, you turn and flee without looking back.

 

Meditating on the Tarot card you drew doesn’t help. You’ve lit a candle, done your favorite energy-raising method, and set the card in the middle of the circle. But looking at it, closing your eyes to help concentrate… all you can think about is Chris. The encounter with him in the kitchen last night, the kiss… and you want more. Now, deep in your meditation, your mind wanders, conjuring up images: his kiss, his touch…

     The Goddess is laughing at you, you just _know_ it.

     Your eyes snap open at the sound of a soft knock on your door, and a faint groan of frustration leaves you when you see that it’s Chris standing in the doorway. (Well, “standing” isn’t entirely accurate. He’s leaning against the doorframe with one leg crossed over the other.)

     “I just wanted to see how your meditation was going,” he says. A moment later he takes in your demeanor and his expression shifts to something close to concern. “Are you all right?”

     “Take a wild guess.” It comes out more sarcastic than you intended, and you inwardly wince.

     Chris doesn’t seem too fazed, tilts his head to the side. His green gaze seems to be looking right through you. “I know I’d said I would leave you alone, but if that’s what you want…”

     “It isn’t,” you say before you can stop yourself.

     He doesn’t really react, as if he’d expected that much. “All right, then.” There’s a pause, then: “And your meditation?”

     You smile faintly, remember snippets of a spell you once read and urge him closer with a gesture. “‘Love, I call you, come to me. As is my will, so mote it be.’”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompted by:** Anonymous  
>  **Prompt:** I know it was like six months ago, but any hope for a hurt/comfort #1 starter with platonic Chris and Wy? Preferably Chris being the one saying number one?  
>  ( hurt/comfort dialog prompts | 1. “Can you please come and get me?” )
> 
> Originally published 21 October 2017.

     “Hey, uh, Wyatt,” Chris began over his cell phone. He wet suddenly-dry lips, glanced over at the mortals lying hunched over on the ground just outside the bar. “Can you please come and get me?”

     Silence for one, two, three beats. Then he heard his older brother sigh on the other end of the line. “Chris, what did you do  _now_?”

     “Nothing!” Chris insisted.

     Beat. Chris could almost hear Wyatt raising a disbelieving eyebrow. “Well, nothing much,” he amended. “Okay, these guys came after me at the bar. It was self-defense.”

     “You didn’t use your powers, did you?”

     “Come on, you know me better than that.”

    More silence. Then Wyatt gave a long-suffering sigh. “Okay, fine. I’ll come pick you up. Just try  _not_ to kill anyone else before I get there, Chris, all right?”

     Chris couldn’t suppress a smile. “Got it.” 

     The click informed him that Wyatt had hung up. Chris pocketed his cell phone, glanced over again at the very large, very drunk guys now either curled up in the fetal position or lying supine (one was groaning softly), and decided to lean against the wall while he waited for Wyatt. 

     He winced as pain shot through his rib cage and lower abdomen when he made it over to the wall. True, Chris could take care of himself—he’d learned martial arts from both his Aunt Phoebe and an instructor here in San Francisco—but taking on five guys at once had  _not_ been his best idea. Especially not when (as far as he could tell) they were all regular humans, so he couldn’t even use his powers to help him out.

     Wyatt pulled up in Piper’s SUV fifteen minutes later. Chris opened the passenger-side door with his telekinesis and gingerly slid into the seat. 

     His older brother looked over at him, frowned. “You don’t look so good.”

     Chris managed a weak grin, gestured out the window. “You should see the other guys. And uh… don’t tell Mom. She’d try to kill me.”

     Wyatt rolled his eyes and put the SUV in gear. “She’d have to get in line.”

     “Hey, it was self-defense! I told you, they came after me.”

     “Uh-huh. And you didn’t provoke them at all.” 

     Chris frowned at his brother’s sarcastic tone, glanced away. “One of them called me pretty. I  _hate_ being called ‘pretty.’” He sighed and closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the headrest. “I don’t suppose you could heal me first and then chew me out later?”

     “I will—when we get home. Until then you’re just going to have to deal with it.”

     “…Fine.”

     “And Chris?”

     “Hhmm?”

      “If you  _anything_  like that again—”

     “You don’t have to say it, Wy. I know.”

     “Do you? Really? Cos sometimes I wonder.”

     Chris laughed softly, then winced as the action hurt his bruised ribs. “Who are you, my Whitelighter?”

     “Right now, yes. And your brother, who’s telling you that if you do this again I  _will_ tell Mom. So shut up and let me drive so we can get home and I can heal you.”

     Green eyes opened; Chris looked over into the driver’s seat. “Jerk.”

     When Wyatt didn’t respond with his usual reply, Chris just sighed and leaned back against his seat again. 

     It was going to be a long ride home.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompted by:** seethem-dancing  
>  **Prompt:** May I throw in a prompt from the same meme you reblogged awhile ago (24 or 25th)? It can be a fic/drabble or imagine, whichever medium you prefer and the most inspired to work with at the moment.  
>  ( 390 prompts | 24: “Did I just say that out loud?” ) 
> 
> Originally published 25 November 2017

“You’re gorgeous,” she breathes. Chris’s head pops up from his personal Book of Shadows and he stares at her, green eyes narrowed and eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

           She realizes what she said a second later, and she gasps. “Did I just say that out loud?”

           “Yeah, you did.” The confusion slowly leaves his face, and one corner of Chris’s mouth turns up in a half-smile. “Not that I mind. Just… if you have any fantasies about me,  _don’t_ let me know what they are, okay?”

           Heart in her throat, she nods—though she can’t  _really_ help it, given how handsome and  _pretty_  he is. “Okay.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** Okay, so, for the 390 writing prompts, could you do 5? Like, changed future with Chris, Wyatt, and Bianca, "Are you hitting on her for me?"  
>  **Prompted by:** Anonymous   
> **Characters:** Chris Halliwell, Wyatt Halliwell, Bianca  
>  **Pairing:** Chris Halliwell/Bianca

P3 was filled with lights, music, and patrons. Chris, sitting at the bar, had one ear on the live band (some up-and-coming rock group that he couldn’t remember the name of) and an eye on his older brother Wyatt. For once, neither one of them was working tonight—and Wyatt had managed to catch the eye of a pretty, slightly older woman—a witch, one he knew Chris liked named Bianca. The rest of their family was always slightly edgy around her, or whenever Chris mentioned her for reasons the two brothers didn’t really understand—though Chris was certain that her belonging to the Phoenix coven of assassin witches wasn’t exactly the  _only_ reason.

     Still, Chris couldn’t quite believe his eyes (or his ears) when Wyatt began talking to Bianca, actually managing to make her smile, and the two of them kept sending glances his way. Then Wyatt motioned for her to stay put and headed over to where Chris was sitting at the bar, and mild panic set in.

     His older brother slid onto the seat beside him, grinning, and it clicked. Chris glanced back at Bianca, saw she was looking directly at him with a small smile on her face, and turned back to Wyatt. He hissed, “Are you hitting on her for me?”

     “Well,  _yeah_ ,” Wyatt said as if it were obvious. “Since you’re not going to do it yourself or ask her out—and for the record, I think she likes you.”

     Chris groaned and leaned forward on the bar, hiding his face in his hands. “Do me a favor and don’t do this  _ever_ again.”

     Wyatt’s smile faded. “Chris, you obviously like her. She likes you. What’s the problem?”

     Chris folded his arms on top of the counter and whipped his head around to glare at his brother. “I don’t want to get close to her again because she’ll be killed.”

     “Again?” Wyatt frowned, confused for a second. Then the confusion cleared. “You knew her,” he said. “In the—”

     “The other timeline, yeah.” Chris looked away. “We were engaged. She went into the past to bring me back and you… evil you… I couldn’t heal her.”

     “ _Chris._ ” Wyatt’s voice was firm. “That wasn’t you, and that wasn’t me. The other Chris,  _he’s not you_. You’re here, Mom’s here, Dad, Mel, Uncle Coop, Uncle Henry, the cousins. Okay? Look at me.”

     Reluctantly, Chris met his brother’s hazel gaze.

     “Bianca is  _not_ going to die because of you, got that?” Wyatt said. “This isn’t that future, and from what I’ve gathered she’s perfectly capable of handling herself. So relax. Live a little.” He smiled, slapped a hand on Chris’ back. “Go  _talk_ to her, have fun, and let me know all the details later.”

     Chris rolled his eyes but slipped off the bar stool anyway and made his way through the crowd to the Phoenix witch. As he did, a memory flashed.

_“Haven’t we been here before?”  
_

_“Maybe we will be again.”_


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** For 390 prompts, can you do Chris and Bianca for eighteen? | 18. "Come over here and make me."  
>  **Prompted by:** Anonymous  
>  **Characters:** Chris Halliwell, Bianca  
>  **Pairing:** Chris Halliwell/Bianca
> 
> Originally published 9 January 2018.

Bianca turned a steely glare on him. “Chris, give me my athame.  _Now_.” She needed it in case of a demon attack (or for a ritual, she wasn’t picky about which) and it  _had_ been within reach only a few seconds before. Just as she’d been about to grab it, it had disappeared in a swirl of blue-white orbs.

     He held up his hands in plain sight, an innocent expression on his face. “I don’t have it.”

     His eyebrows shot up a second later as she actually  _growled_. “ _Chris._ I’m not kidding.”

He smirked, her athame materializing in his hand. “Come over here and make me.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** If you're still accepting hurt/comfort prompts I would like to read your take on either the 11 or 16th from that meme (whether it be Chris/reader or Chris/another character from the show's canon is your choice).  
>  ( hurt/comfort dialog prompts | 11. "Oh god, you're bleeding" )  
>  **Prompted by:** seethem-dancing  
>  **Characters:** Chris Halliwell, Piper Halliwell
> 
> Originally published 17 January 2018

“Chris?” Piper glanced up from the boiling pot on the stove at the sound of orbing, fully expecting to see the young Whitelighter standing there impatiently and ready to tell her about a new demon that needed vanquishing.

     He was standing in the kitchen doorway all right, but what she  _didn’t_ expect was for him to have multiple gashes on his face and what she could see of his hands, still open and dripping scarlet. Piper’s irritation with the Charmed Ones’ neurotic Whitelighter vanished instantly, replaced with concern. “Oh god, Chris, you’re bleeding.”

     Without thinking, Piper left her station and hurried over to him. “What happened?”

     Chris flinched visibly at her show of concern, pale green eyes flicking away from her brown ones. “I was tracking a couple of demons. Either they saw me or I got too close. Either way…” His voice trailed off, leaving the implications all too clear to the Charmed One. 

     Piper said nothing for a moment. At some point she was going to have to talk to him about needlessly putting himself in danger, but that time was not right now. “I can call Leo. He can heal you.”

     “No!”

     Okay, she knew Chris didn’t like Leo but even so, the sharpness and abruptness of his response surprised her enough that Piper reflexively stepped back. Something flickered in Chris’s eyes that she couldn’t identify when he saw her reaction; then he took a breath as if trying to calm down, grimaced in pain.

     “Just… do what you can to clean it up, please, Piper,” he said in a softer tone. “They’ll heal on their own.”

     Brown eyes held green for a moment; then she nodded, businesslike. “All right.” Turning, she began gathering up what she would need to clean up his scratches. “Just take a seat, Chris,” Piper tossed over her shoulder as she walked over to where they kept the first aid kit.

     When she came back with the kit, he was sitting down without much complaint.  _That_ changed the instant she applied a washcloth soaked in cold water to clear up some of the blood: Chris flinched back with an irritated hiss of breath.

     “Oh, stop fidgeting.”

     To her faint surprise, the Whitelighter actually listened to her and stayed still without complaining (much) as she continued cleaning his wounds.

     “Okay, done,” Piper said several minutes later, sweeping up the used supplies and tossing them in the nearby trash can.

     “Thanks.”

     The subdued note in his voice had her pausing, turning her head to focus on him again. “Chris?” Suddenly it seemed important for her to say  _something_ , even if she wasn’t sure  _why_. “You can come to us if you need help. You know that, right?”

     He scoffed derisively, met her gaze. “I’ve tried,” he said flatly. “But all three of you have been so wrapped up in your personal lives you don’t listen to me at all—even when I’m trying to warn you about a demon attack. So no, Piper, I  _don’t_  know if I really can.”

     Before she could say anything to that, he disappeared in a stream of blue-white orbs.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Requested by:** thegirlwiththedragonheart  
>  **Prompt:** Can I request #9 from the 390 prompts list? Preferably a humor thing, if that's alright?  
>  ( 390 Prompts | 9. “At what point did you think that was a good idea?” )
> 
> Originally published 08 June 2018

Chris stopped dead in the doorway, looked over the destruction in the Manor’s living room, and let out a long-suffering sigh.

Parker and PJ, his cousins, instantly stopped whatever it was they were doing and looked over at him with deer-caught-in-headlights expressions.

“Do I even want to know?” Chris asked.

“Well…” Parker began, only to be cut off by PJ slapping her hand over her mouth. Parker recoiled, shook her head, and shot her sister a cross look. “ _Anyway_ ,” she continued pointedly, “PJ and I wanted to try out some different ideas for potions we had. Well. . . and we wanted to see who was better at making vanquishing potions. Testing them out got a little… uh…”

Chris sighed. “Were you using your active powers, too?”

The two girls exchanged quick glances; PJ just looked sheepish while Parker nodded and folded her arms with a “What’s the problem?” look on her face.

“Great,” Chris muttered. He rolled his eyes. “At what point did you think that was a good idea?”

“Uh…”

Parker shrugged. “It’s good practice?” she suggested hopefully.

The brunet witchlighter tilted his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose, groaned softly. “Just clean it up before Mom or Aunt Phoebe get back and see this mess, okay? Anyone asks, I didn’t see anything.”

Just before he shifted completely into a stream of light, he heard his cousins reciting their Aunt Paige’s favorite spell in unison: _“Let the object of objection become but a dream…”_

Reappearing in his old room, Chris smiled and shook his head in dry amusement. Were they going to learn from this? He doubted it.

Did they care? Not likely.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompt:** 24\. "Did I just say that out loud?" || Hi, I love Chris so if you're still doing the list prompt? Can I have number 24 with Chris pretty please? Thank you  
>  **Prompted by:** lenathemushroom  
>  **Characters:** Chris Halliwell, Reader
> 
> Originally published 17 June 2018

You groan in frustration and slam your Book of Shadows shut. You’ve been looking through it for a spell or potion that will help with your…  _problem_ … concerning a certain witchlighter from the Halliwell line and it doesn’t seem like there’s anything in there that would help.

     “Great,” you grumble sarcastically. With a sigh, you rock back against the sofa and tilt your head back, run your hands down your face.”Stupid pretty witchlighter. Who gave him the right to be  _that_ attractive?”

     There’s a flash of white out of the corner of your eye, but you’re too irritated to think much of it. Then you hear the sound of someone clearing their throat and you freeze, slowly look in that direction.

     Chris is standing there with his arms folded over his chest and one eyebrow raised. 

     The blood drains from your face. … _Shit._ “Did I just say that out loud?”

     Chris nods. “Assuming you were talking about me—or thinking, since I heard your call—yeah. You did.”

     “Oh  _gods_.” You want to die from embarrassment. Just let the earth swallow you up right now, please and thanks. “Um… I don’t suppose there’s any chance you could  _ignore_ that, could you?”

     A smirk tugs at his mouth, then is gone. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you want. You’re sure you don’t need me? No demons attacking or anything?”

 _You sure you don’t need me?_ Of all the things he had to say… You feel your cheeks flush red, but you manage to control yourself and clear your throat. “Uh… yeah, I’m sure. No demons attacking. I’m just… uh… frustrated.”

     Chris looks puzzled for a second, then his expression clears as he  _gets_ it. “Ah.”

     “Yeah. So could you just…?” You make a shooing motion with your hand.

     He doesn’t say anything, just orbs away with a faint chiming sound. As soon as he’s gone you flop back against the couch and sigh. Having Chris as your Whitelighter is turning out to be more of a problem than you thought, and eventually you’re going to have to do  _something_ about it.

     Hopefully without the Elders finding out.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imagine where Chris learns from Coop that Bianca isn't his soulmate. It's someone else, a different witch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Requested by:** lenathemushroom  
>  **Prompt:** I love your blog, and was hoping for an imagine where Chris learns from Uncle Coop that Bianca isn’t his soul mate it’s someone else, a different witch. Please thank you x  
>  **Characters:** Chris Halliwell, Bianca, Coop
> 
> Originally published 18 June 2018

Chris stared at his Uncle Coop in disbelief and subconsciously tightened his hold on Bianca’s hand. “Say that again.”

     The Cupid’s gaze was sympathetic as his eyes flicked toward Chris and Bianca’s joined hands. “I’m sorry, Chris, but Bianca isn’t your soulmate. A different witch is.”

     Anger flashed in the Phoenix witch’s dark eyes; Chris’s jaw tightened as he forced himself to hold his uncle’s gaze. “You’re lying,” Bianca said coldly. “You just don’t trust me because I’m a Phoenix—or what I did to Chris in the other timeline when I brought him back.”

     Coop shook his head. “No. That’s not it. I’m a Cupid; we don’t lie about soulmates. I really am sorry. I know how much you meant to each other in the original timeline, but the two of you are not soulmates.”

     Chris’s hold on Bianca’s hand went slack, then vanished altogether as his mind whirled with shock. He’d been engaged to her in the other timeline; he’d helped her want to be a better person… He didn’t even think he  _would_ find her again in this timeline, with their lives being so different and Bianca being at least four or five years older than him. And yet… doubt crept into the back of his mind.

     Him proposing to her  _had_ been slightly manipulative on his part. He remembered Bianca always being the one to initiate intimacy between them. And… he  _had_ broken off their engagement when she realigned with Wyatt and went back to the past to retrieve him and stripped his powers. Were soulmates  _supposed_ to act like that?

     Vaguely he was aware of a distortion in the air next to him as Bianca shimmered away. When she was gone, Chris swallowed, wet his lips as he met his uncle’s gaze. “So… if Bianca’s not my soulmate,” he began, “…who is?”

      “Like I said, another witch,” Coop said. He held out his hand, his Cupid ring glinting on his finger as it caught the light. “If you want, I can show you, take you to her.”

      Chris hesitated, staring at the ring on his uncle’s hand.  _Bianca, forgive me._

     He reached out and grasped Coop’s hand. A second later, there was nothing where the Cupid and Whitelighter-witch had been standing.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompted by:** Anonymous  
>  **Prompt:** Hey :) I really love your imagines! Could you write: 28. “Do you…well…I mean…I could give you a massage?” with Chris Halliwell/Reader?  
>  **Pairing:** Chris Halliwell/Reader
> 
> Originally published 28 June 2018

You open the door to your apartment and close it behind you, take a moment to lean against it with your eyes closed and let out a sigh of relief that the day is finally over. Then you open your eyes, shove off the door, and walk down the little hallway that opens up into the living room, tossing your backpack onto the small sofa without looking. (You can always do your homework later.)

     You’re thinking about heading into the kitchenette and rummaging through the fridge for a snack when you hear footsteps and someone emerges from the other doorway into the living room. A startled shriek escapes you; then you recognize it’s Chris Halliwell and you relax.

     Like you, Chris is a student at UCLA. Unlike you, he’s in his fourth year as an undergraduate (you’re in your third) and he’s a nursing student (you’re a Computer Science major). Still, you know him due to having taken some basic lecture classes together. “Geez, Chris, you startled me,” you say, holding your hand over your chest to try and calm your pounding heart. “Warn a girl next time, will you?”

     Chris doesn’t say anything, just offers a wan smile, and only then do you remember he doesn’t actually live in this apartment ( _So how did he get in here?_ part of your brain wonders) and realize that he looks incredibly stressed out and tense. “Sorry,” he finally says. “Wrong apartment. Mine’s four doors down. I can leave if you want.”

     “No! No, it’s fine,” you blurt out. Somewhere in the back of your mind there’s a faint voice whispering that there’s something  _off_ about what he just said, but you ignore it. “Lie down or something. You look beat.”

     He considers it for a moment, and to your surprise doesn’t put up much of a fight. “Okay, thanks.” Chris crosses over to the back of the couch, hops over the back and stretches out, kicking your backpack off in the process—and your mouth goes dry as you study him, all thoughts of a snack forgotten.

      You’ve always kind of noticed him in class before, but you’ve never realized until now just how tall and  _lean_ he is. His shirt rides up a little above his jeans, giving you a glimpse of skin stretched taut over stomach muscles, of the curve of his hipbones. You swallow hard, mentally chastising yourself for wanting to see more—for wondering what he would look like without any clothes on, what he’d—  _No. Later. Fantasize about that when you’re alone._

     You give yourself a quick shake to clear your head, and the next thing you know words are tumbling out of your mouth: “Do you… well… I mean…I could give you a massage?” You inwardly wince the second you say the words: There’s no way he’d let you, no way he’d say  _yes_ , you’ve only briefly thought about maybe jumping him before and now that he’s  _here_ in your apartment stretched out on your couch…

     Chris sits up, looks at you quizzically over the top of the couch. “…I guess? Why?”

     Relief crashes through you. “You just look really tense,” you say. “Stressed out. When’s the last time you ever allowed yourself to relax, Halliwell?”

     “Never,” he says dryly. “Every time I try to take a moment to relax, something happens.”

     “Well, not this time.” You walk around to the other side of the couch, study him for a moment with your hands on your hips. “Roll over,” you order him, “and take your shirt off.”

      He doesn’t protest, just arches his eyebrows at your commanding tone before sitting up enough to grasp the hem of his shirt and lift it up over his head. Then he’s rolling over onto his stomach before you can get a good look at his chest, his abdominal muscles. You kick off your own shoes and straddle his waist, your hands already moving for his broad shoulders and working out the kinks in the muscles beneath his skin. Computer Science major you may be, but you remember enough from high school anatomy to know which muscles you’re working, what they attach to—and it helps that you have an aunt who’s a massage therapist. 

     Your hands move lower, avoiding the line of his spine, and you smile to yourself a little when Chris sighs and starts making little appreciative noises—moans, more like. “Goddess, that feels good,” he murmurs. You frown a little at that—despite sharing three classes with him, you still don’t know that much about Chris, and on a campus that’s full of primarily Christian, Jewish, Muslim, or atheist/agnostic students you haven’t really heard Chris talk about his religious beliefs much (if he has any). Still…  you don’t know that much about modern paganism, but ‘Goddess’ seems like something only a pagan would say.

     You shake the thought off (it’s none of your business anyway); continue working the muscles beneath your hands; gradually feel Chris relax as the tension slowly drains out of him. And the sounds he’s making… the way his body feels beneath you… it sends a faint stirring of arousal down your spine and through your blood. The thought crosses your mind that the other girls you share the apartment with are  _not_ going to believe that you’ve had Christopher Halliwell half-naked on your couch, moaning with pleasure at your touch—even if it isn’t sexual (and part of you  _wants_ it to be).

     At last, reluctantly, you run your hands up his back to his shoulders one last time before lifting yourself up off of him. “I’m done,” you say. “Everything’s all loosened up.”

     Chris turns his head (which has been resting on his folded arms over the armrest on the couch) to look at you, and your breath catches at the almost sleepy, contented look in his green eyes; the messy tousled look of his shaggy brown hair. “Really?” His voice is slightly huskier than it was earlier, and you shiver as heat flares through you. 

     You nod, swallow as you try and control yourself. “Yeah.”

     Chris shifts his body, reaching for his discarded shirt, and pulls it back on. “Thanks.” He gives you a slight smile; then his expression changes, sharpens. “Get down!”

      _What?_ The thought barely crosses your mind before he’s lunging toward you, sweeping you off your feet and onto your back. You hear the sound of  _something_ whooshing towards you; then it fades and is replaced by a scream of pain. Your head turns, eyes searching, trying to get a glimpse of what’s happening.

    What you  _do_ manage to see doesn’t make any sense: a man standing in your apartment where there wasn’t one before, and he’s on  _fire_. Before you can blink, he explodes and there’s nothing left but a pile of ash.

     “What the  _hell_?!” Dimly you realize that Chris is still on top of you; you  _push_ with your arms and legs as you try to wiggle free. 

     “Wait!” Chris hisses in your ear, and you freeze. “I need to see if there’s any more.”

     “More  _what_?” you ask as he carefully pushes himself up off you.

     He looks down at you, green eyes deadly serious. “Demons.”

     Okay, you may not remember much from Sunday Bible school, but you’re  _pretty sure_ demons don’t  _actually_ exist. When you tell him that, Chris just sighs and rolls his eyes.

     “Look,” he says, “I don’t have time for this so I’m going to tell it to you straight. Demons exist. They were either after me or after you, and we have to get out of here before more of them show up. I don’t think I can vanquish five demons at once.”

     “Why would they be after  _me?!”_

     Chris only hesitates for a second. “Because I’m a witch,” he finally says. “And so are you.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompted by:** seethem-dancing  
>  **Request:** Regarding the 390 prompts meme if you're still inspired to work with it I would love to read your take on the 8th (preferably an interaction between Chris, the sisters and/or Leo in the altered timeline when nobody in the family knew his true identity. But you can pick any setting you want to if this one doesn't tickle your imagination).  
>  **Prompt:** 8\. “Are you really taking his side against me?” 
> 
> Originally published 11 August 2018

Chris stared in disbelief at Piper ( _Mom_ , a small voice inside his head said, though she didn’t know it yet), Phoebe, and Paige, his gaze flicking back and forth between the three Charmed Ones and Leo.

     An Elder.

     His father—though no one knew that yet either besides Chris himself.

     Who was currently trying  _yet again_ to keep Chris from being the Charmed Ones’ Whitelighter—this time with the serious threat of clipping his wings and having Chris’s soul be recycled or, failing that, send him back to his own time.

     “Seriously?” He tried, but Chris couldn’t hide the anger, disbelief,  _hurt_ from his tone; couldn’t keep it from flitting across his face, flickering in his eyes. “Are you really taking his side against me?”

     “Chris,” Piper began, “it’s not that we don’t like you—”

     “Speak for yourself,” Phoebe muttered. “Sending us out after all these demons nonstop is a drag.”

     “—but your methods are doing more harm than good,” Leo finished for his wife.  _Ex-wife_ , a small, nasty voice in Chris’s head reminded him. “Backdoor deals with demons, nearly getting your charges killed, murdering three Valkyries in cold blood to steal their pendants, sending me to Valhalla…”

     “I don’t believe this!” Chris scoffed, threw his hands up in disgust. “You can’t prove I killed those Valkyries  _or_ sent you to Valhalla. Just admit it, Leo, you’ve had it in for me since the day I arrived here.”

     Leo opened his mouth, but Phoebe butted in before the Elder could say anything: “Chris… he  _does_ have a point. Maybe it is for the best if the Elders gave you some other charges for a while so you don’t have to focus on us all the time.”

      _So you don’t have to keep sending us out after demons all the time,_ was what Chris knew she meant. He looked skyward, rolling his eyes, and suppressed the frustrated groan he felt building in his chest. “You don’t get it, do you? I’ve  _told_ you that I know from future knowledge there’s an  _evil_  out there that gets to Wyatt… and the four of you aren’t even doing  _anything_ to seriously protect him.  _Dammit!”_

     It exploded out of him in a yell born of pent-up frustration and  _helplessness_ ; the sisters jumped, startled, but Chris had his attention on Leo and didn’t notice.

     “It’s almost like you  _want_ him to be captured and turned evil!”

     Even when the four of them gave him shocked, cold looks Chris didn’t regret saying it. Then Piper stepped forward, told him that in no uncertain terms she did not want to see him in the house again, and disappointment crashed down around him.

     He still didn’t regret his outburst, but Chris let them take in the disappointed, hurt expression on his face before disappearing from view in a swirl of cyan orbs.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompted by:** Anonymous  
>  **Prompt:** Fic request for some good brotherly!protective!Wyatt and hurt!dangermagnet!Chris? (Changed future, if that’s cool? Cause UF makes me sad every time.) Don’t care what it specifically is, could be bullies, cheating girl/boyfriend, demons, scars, insecurities, etc.
> 
> Originally published 09 November 2018

“Chris?” Wyatt Halliwell stepped out of the locker room from changing into his street clothes after seventh-period gym class and drew up short when he saw his sixteen-year-old brother in the main hallway sitting back against a row of lockers. When he came closer, he saw that Chris was shaking and visibly trying not to completely break down—and there were bruises on his skin and a spot of blood from a cut lip. 

“Chris, what happened?” He knelt down in front of the brunet witchlighter, fighting back a rush of anger. “Tell me.”

Chris jerked back, head snapping up to glare at him with a swirling mixture of anger and panic flaring in his eyes. “It’s nothing, Wyatt.”

“Chris. You look like you’re about to have a breakdown and like you just got out of a fight. That’s  _not_ ‘nothing.’”

“It’s just some mortal high school kids, all right, Wyatt? It’s  _nothing_. There’s no need for you to get involved.” Chris started to push himself up, winced, ignored the very obvious flash of pain and stood to his full height of just over six feet. “I can take care of myself, okay? Leave it.”

“At least let me heal you first.” The offer was out of his mouth before Wyatt could take it back.

Chris only gave him an unreadable look in response before nodding his consent. “Okay.”

With a quick glance around to make sure they were alone, Wyatt held his hands over his brother’s bruises and cut lip and concentrated. Soon he felt the rush of warmth, saw the telltale golden glow beneath his hands as his Whitelighter healing magic took effect. When he moved his hands away, Chris’s injuries were gone.

As he turned away, he thought he caught a glimpse of envy in his brother’s pale-green eyes—but Chris was already walking away down the hallway to his own locker before he could be sure.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompted by:** Anonymous  
>  **Prompt:** Imagine that you have a relationship with Chris that you have to keep secret; Wyatt finds out and holds it over you and Chris as leverage.  
>  **Pairing:** Chris/Reader  
>  **POV:** Second  
>  **Characters:** Chris Halliwell, Reader, Wyatt Halliwell
> 
> Originally published 26 December 2018

You walk through the door to your apartment, wanting only to relax after a long day at work, and find yourself smiling when you see your boyfriend Chris leaning against the kitchen counter waiting for you.  _Boyfriend_  isn’t quite the right term: he’s also your Whitelighter, a kind of guardian angel for witches and future Whitelighters—and Whitelighters aren’t supposed to fall in love with their charges. Your relationship is forbidden, and you have to keep it a secret from the rest of his family and the Elders.

You toss your keys, coat, and bag onto the living room floor just beside the door and walk over to him, wrap your arms around him and kiss him. “Hey,” you greet him when you pull back. “What’s up?”

He doesn’t return your smile, but he does straighten a little and hold your body against his. “I just wanted to see you.”

For a moment you’re content to just stand there, enjoying the heat of him and the way he feels against you. He’s all slender and lean muscle, shaggy dark brown hair and pale jade-green eyes—and this close to him, flames of desire start to lick at your skin.

As appealing as just curling up on the couch with a book to relax had sounded, suddenly you have a  _much_ better idea for how you want to unwind.

You slip your hands under the hem of his shirt, rise up on your toes to better reach his neck—one spot you know he likes. Behind you, you dimly hear the sound of faint bells—a jingle, maybe? chimes?—but it doesn’t fully register until Chris’s whole body tenses as if he’s staring at something (or some _one_ ) behind you.

“Wyatt.”

You step back, whirl around to see Wyatt Halliwell, the Twice-Blessed, standing there glaring at the two of you with his arms folded over his chest. His hazel eyes skip right over you to focus on your Whitelighter. “What are you playing at, Chris?” he demands. “You  _know_ it’s against the rules.”

Chris barks out a short, dry laugh. “That’s rich, considering everything our parents went through.” His grip tightens possessively around your waist.

 _Wait, what? Chris is half witch? And Wyatt’s brother? Why didn’t he tell me?!_ you think.

You’re jerked out of your thoughts by Wyatt’s voice: “She’s your charge, Chris. And if you don’t break it off, I’ll go to the Elders.”

Chris tenses up even further. “You wouldn’t.”

Wyatt’s expression is cool, hard, and a shiver runs down your spine as you remember just how  _powerful_ he’s supposed to be and the reputation he has. Then he flashes a wolfish grin. “Try me.” A second later, he shrugs, his tone casual: “Or…”

Chris doesn’t let him finish. He flicks his free hand, and his older brother vanishes in a swirl of blue-white orbs. The instant Wyatt is gone, Chris turns back to you and wraps his arms around you, rests his chin on top of your head. “He’s not going to like that I did that. And we need to go.”

“But what about—” you start to say.

“We’ll take care of it, okay?” Chris assures you. “But he’ll be back once he gets over the shock of me remote orbing him, so we  _really do_ need to go.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere I have in mind that Wyatt doesn’t know about—and it’s warded so he can’t track my orb trail or scry for me.” Chris steps back from you, holds out his hand. “Do you trust me?”

Of course you do. Looking up at him, you nod once and reach for his hand. 

Seconds later you’ve dissolved into cyan orbs alongside your Whitelighter and left the apartment far behind.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompted by:** MariFive  
>  **Prompt:** Hey :) … I was wandering if you could write a Chris/reader Whit the 348: “You can’t leave me in the dark. You have to tell me these things.”  
>  I don’t know why but I was thinking in the Marvel movies with this xD . Anyway whatever you write is going to be great , thanks you :)  
>  **Pairing:** Chris/Reader
> 
> Originally published 06 January 2019

“You can’t leave me in the dark. You have to tell me these things.”

     Chris doesn’t say anything for a long moment; just looks down at the floor and wets his lips, sticks his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. A part of you can’t help noticing just how messy and disheveled he looks, as if he’s recently been in a fight.

     Then he lifts his head, and his jade-green eyes meet yours. Even when you’re at your full height he’s still looking down at you—and a tiny voice in your head pipes up bemoaning the fact he’s just over six feet tall.

     You quickly squash it.

     “I can’t tell you,” he finally says. “And even if I told you, you wouldn’t believe me. It’s better for you if I leave you in the dark on this. Trust me.”

     You scoff and fold your arms over your chest. “Says who?”

     He hesitates a second too long. “I can’t tell you that. I’d be revealing too much.”

     You grit your teeth against a frustrated scream. “Come  _on_ , Chris,  _please._ Just  _tell_ me.”

     A shadow crosses his expression, and he shakes his head. “I.  _Can’t_ ,” he insists again, and for an instant his voice is lower, rougher than normal. Hearing that note in his voice sends an involuntary shiver down your spine. 

     “Why not?” You tilt your head back, jutting out your chin stubbornly, and fix him with a frustrated glare. 

     “Because knowing too much about me… my life… it’ll put you in danger. And I don’t—” Chris cuts himself off, glances away. You watch as he closes his eyes, inhales deeply; watch the movement of his chest falling as he exhales slowly. “Believe me, you’re better off not knowing. Why can’t you just trust me on this?”

     “Because I  _hate_ people keeping secrets from me.” You step closer to him, watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard. “I don’t care if knowing what you don’t want me to know puts me in danger; I  _hate_ being deliberately kept in the dark. Especially by someone I’m close to, Chris.” He’s your friend (or maybe more; you haven’t decided yet); friends aren’t supposed to keep secrets from each other and whatever it is he’s hiding… it sounds like a  _major_ secret. 

     Then something occurs to you. “It doesn’t have anything to do with your job, does it?”

     “What?” For a second he looks startled, caught off guard. Then the mask is back in place. “No, it doesn’t have anything to do with my job.” (He’s a Registered Nurse, you know, at a local hospital—but you’ve also been with him the few times he goes in to help out at the nightclub P3 that his older brother Wyatt runs.)

     You flash him a smirk, tilt your head and step further into his personal space. “Then I don’t see why you can’t tell me.”

     Chris tenses, shifts his weight as if he’s going to step back but doesn’t, and shakes his head. There’s a look in his eyes you can’t read. “I’m sorry, but I genuinely  _can’t._ Please, don’t… don’t ask me to tell you again.”

     There’s the sudden sound of  _something_ dropping to the floor behind you, and you whirl around to find the source of the noise. It’s one of your books, fallen off the end table in your living room.

     You frown, momentarily confused. You’re  _positive_ the book wasn’t anywhere  _near_ close enough to the edge to fall off, so how…?

     When you turn back, you find that Chris has somehow already gone. Vanished.

     It’s like he was never there.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Prompted by:** rennyd-26  
>  **Prompt:** Can you do a part 2 where it’s a girl Chris has known for awhile and it’s Chris x reader   
> **POV:** second  
>  **Pairing:** Chris/Reader
> 
> [Part One](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12823377/chapters/34678817#workskin)
> 
> Originally published 07 January 2019

You’re curled up on your couch reading a book (it’s a Saturday; you have nothing else to do) when a faint noise makes you look up sharply from your novel. A heartbeat later your eyes widen as a pink haze in the shape of a heart forms in midair. Then it solidifies into two figures, one of which you recognize instantly.

     “Chris?” His name is out of your mouth before you realize you’ve said anything. “What are you doing here?” Then your gaze shifts to the man beside him, and your eyes narrow. “Who are  _you_?”

     Chris looks uncomfortable. He clears his throat, glances at the man next to him before turning back to you and replying, “He’s a Cupid. My uncle, actually. And, uh…” He ducks his head, the tip of his tongue running across his lips while he runs a hand through his shaggy brown hair. “…he says you’re my soulmate.”

     There’s a sudden thud in the pit of your stomach. “…What.” It’s the only thing you can think of to say. Sure, you’ve known Chris for a while—you’re both witches (though he’s half Whitelighter), and what witch  _hasn’t_ heard of the Charmed Ones or that the eldest’s older son is the Twice-Blessed?—and something about him has drawn you to him ever since you first met him, but  _soulmates_? Besides, as far as you know, he’s been seeing a Phoenix witch. (The Warren line and the Charmed Ones are practically royalty in the magical world as far as other witches are concerned, so  _of course_ there’s going to be gossip about Wyatt, Chris, Melinda and their cousins and who anyone in the family is seeing romantically at any time. Chris being seen with Bianca, a Phoenix witch five years older than him? Naturally the witch equivalent of tabloid magazines were all over it—not that you ever paid much attention or cared, of course.)

     The Cupid—you realize now that this  _has_ to be Coop, Phoebe Halliwell’s husband—rests a hand on Chris’s shoulder and speaks for the first time since they’d beamed into your apartment: “Like I told Chris, Cupids  _don’t_ lie about soulmates. The two of you are meant to be together.”

      Your head whirling, you set your book down and push yourself up from the couch, step toward Chris. Your hand reaches out, grasps his, and an electric jolt travels up your arm from where your skin meets his. You shiver at the intensity of the connection. It’s nothing you’ve ever felt before—overpowering, soul-deep, and in the back of your mind you have a distinct impression of a red cord stretching, binding, tying the two of you together.

     Overwhelmed, you snatch your hand back—but the sensation lingers. Your mouth feels dry as you lift your eyes to Chris’s. “What now?” It’s surprisingly hard to get the words out.

     “I’ll lead that up for the two of you to decide,” Coop says—and somehow, you’ve almost forgotten that the Cupid is even there. “I’ve introduced the two of you; now you’re on your own.”

     Both Chris and you turn to him, but before either of you can say anything the Cupid has beamed away.

     There’s a tense, awkward silence after he’s gone. You find yourself breaking it by asking, “Is he always like this?”

     “Coop?” Chris smiles a little, almost laughs. “No, usually when it comes to doing his Cupid duties he’s much worse.” Then his smile fades. Silence again, and then the two of you are speaking at the same time.

     “I’m sorry about Bianca—”

     “I didn’t mean for this to—”

     Both of you stop, then Chris gestures with a flick of his wrist. “You first.”

     “I’m sorry about Bianca,” you say quietly. “I know she meant a lot to you.” Part of you wants to ask if she knows, wants to find out how she’s taking the news, but it feels like that would be way too awkward and almost like overstepping your boundaries.

     Chris sniffs, averts his eyes. “Yeah,” he says finally. “Me too. She was there when Coop told me, and… it was a shock to both of us, to put it mildly. I never meant for  _this_ to happen and I don’t want to hurt her, but…” There’s something close to helplessness in his eyes when he finally looks at you, and your heart turns over. Wanting to comfort him, you move closer and wrap your arms around him in a hug, your head resting against his chest.

     There’s no  _spark_ this time, but being this close to him just feels  _right_ somehow. “I know,” you murmur.

     Chris doesn’t say anything, just exhales slowly. After a moment you feel his arms around you, his hands on your back. It might not be much, but it’s silent confirmation that you’re going to work through this—whatever it is.

     And for now, that’s enough.

 

 


End file.
